


Hold Me Steady

by AngryPirateHusbands



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Relationship, Injury, Kissing, M/M, Pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 12:29:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8533129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngryPirateHusbands/pseuds/AngryPirateHusbands
Summary: If Silver had at all appeared smug, any hint of it quickly faded when that heavy gaze landed on him next. The warning was clear in Flint's eyes. The man was giving him a chance to "test the waters" so to speak, but this was by no means an end to the crutches. If it became apparent that the prosthetic was to much Flint would have it removed, even if it meant pinning him down and yanking it off himself.





	

Silver sat perched atop the bloodstained table in the room Howell used for his practice. The doctor in question continued to pace about the floor before him, wringing his hands slightly as he attempted to collect his thoughts. He was scraping for another point to add to his argument. The light from the lanterns played across his features as they swung with each gentle tilt of the ship. His mouth had just barely opened when Silver interjected, effectively stopping him before he could get another word out.

"I'm ready," Silver assured him. Despite the frustration he felt his tone remained calm and reserved. It was all he could do to keep his expression level. Yet based on the way Flint was gazing at him from his spot across the room, he could easily see through his guise and at the anger that bubbled underneath. Those green eyes traveled from his face down to the hands that rested on the edge of the table. It was then that Silver realized just how tightly he had been gripping the wood. His fingernails bit into the worn edge with a splintering force that made his knuckles blanch. Quickly he released his hold and shocks of pain coursed through his aching fingers.

"It's far too soon," Howell argued. The man was obviously repeating himself, but he continued nonetheless. "It's only been a month. If you use the boot now it could cause the infection to return. I beg of you, the amputation has just finally begun to heal properly. If you'd just--"

"Howell," Silver bit out. "I'm ready to be off these damned crutches."

"The pain--"

The sharp bark of Silver's laugh made him fall silent. "Don't," he warned him. Despite the smirk that edged at the corner of his mouth, there was no humor to be found in those blue eyes. "I believe I felt the worst of it when you blatantly ignored my wishes and sawed my leg off." Howell's lips pursed into a thin line. Silver wasn't being fair, he knew that, but the constant pain that ebbed from the mangled stump had worn on him. Coupled with the shame and humiliation of hobbling around the deck of the _Walrus_ , when he wasn't stuck in Flint's cabin like some bedridden invalid that is, he was downright miserable. He needed to be able to stand on his own two feet. He _needed_ it, even if one of those feet was composed of cold iron.

Howell, now clearly exasperated, turned to where Flint leaned against the wall in the far corner. "Captain, could you talk some sense into him?" he pleaded.

Flint had been doing his best to refrain from taking part in the argument that had begun nearly an hour ago. Now, however, he had grown tired of even listening to it. A hand moved up to rub against the stubble on his cheek before he shook his head. "Do as he asks," he finally ordered. He angled a stern look at Howell when the man visibly balked, apparently uncertain if those words were meant for him.

Howell sighed. "Yes, Captain," he resigned.

If Silver had at all appeared smug, any hint of it quickly faded when that heavy gaze landed on him next. The warning was clear in Flint's eyes. The man was giving him a chance to "test the waters" so to speak, but this was by no means an end to the crutches. If it became apparent that the prosthetic was too much Flint would have it removed, even if it meant pinning him down and yanking it off himself. He had already said as much during the myriad of arguments the two of them had shared on the subject.

It wasn't until Flint gave a jerk of his chin that Silver realized Howell had been speaking to him. "--you clean the boot after you take it off. The amputation too, before and after. Otherwise you'll be begging for another infection." As the doctor spoke he fetched the prosthetic from the shelf. "This was the one that had been made for Randall, but I adjusted the leather so it'd be a better fit for you. The straps on top here," he gestured as he spoke, "Can better adjust the tightness as you heal... They obviously need to be fairly taunt to avoid the boot from slipping underneath you." Howell then gave him a rather pointed look. "At this stage, each step is going to be excruciating. I know you have a penchant for being stubborn, but I must insist that you listen to your body. If you push yourself too far, it will likely only result in more of your leg needing to be removed."

Silver released an unsteady breath but nodded nonetheless. Howell accepted the recognition and set to work. He cleaned the stump first, correctly assuming that Silver had lied earlier when he had said it was already done, before winding them in fresh linen. As he did so he explained that at this point it would be most beneficial to leave the bandages in place. It would cause the fit to be a bit tighter, but at the very least it would keep it clean. All too soon the edge of that boot was held up against the tender stump. When asked if he was ready Silver offered another nod, his fingers reflexively bearing down on the table.

"One, two... Three."

Silver's eyes twisted shut as the boot was pushed on in one fluid motion. Stabbing pain shot up from the stump before reverberating through his hip and lower back. He hadn't realized he was biting down on his lower lip until he tasted blood. Quickly he licked it away. His breath was seemingly trapped in his chest, his knuckles white. He wasn't certain which was more painful, the tightness of the leather or the boot's wood bottom that pressed against the stitches. It wasn't until Howell began on the straps that Silver once again found his breath. Eventually those blue eyes opened to peer down at the new lower half of his leg. The moment the doctor stepped back he gave an experimental bend and raise of his knee. The weight was much more than he had expected. Then again, he wasn't quite sure what it was he had anticipated. Other than the persisting pain, of course.

"Obviously, due to the way you walk the boot will cause more pressure on the back end of the stump. That area will need to be given even more care." When Howell moved back further it became apparent that he was waiting for Silver to slide off the table so he could see how he responded to the prosthetic. Silver visibly hesitated. He knew for a fact that this was going to be excruciating, that he would likely stumble and trip, and he was weary of anyone seeing him in such a state. Even the doctor. As always Flint had seamlessly read the meaning behind his expression. Before he could even speak, the captain did so first.

"Give us the room, if you please," Flint requested. His tone alone conveyed that he wasn't actually _asking_. "We can handle it from here."

"Of course, Captain."

The moment the door thudded shut Silver began to edge off the table. Again Flint's voice stopped him.

"Wait." Silver glanced up just in time to see the man make his way across the room and extend a hand. He hesitated for just a fraction of a second before taking it. Flint's palm was rough against his own before it slid up to take his forearm in a steadying hold. "Easy," Flint reminded him.

The quartermaster nodded. He tightened his own hold on Flint before scooting off the table, healthy leg first. He only gave himself a moment before testing his full weight on the iron boot. Despite the warning he had just received, Silver knew himself well enough. If he didn't dive in head first he would always be weary of the pain. But now, as that agony shot up his leg in a way that made it feel as though every fiber of it was on fire, he knew it couldn't get any worse. Silver immediately let loose a stream of curses. Now that they were alone he wouldn't hide himself. He trusted Flint enough not to scorn him for showing weakness in this moment. After all, since Charlestown they had each become privy to one another's losses and the grief that followed suit. It was true what men said about misery and comradery. And what's more, it served as the basis for their developing relationship... Whatever it was.

When Silver's injured leg inevitably buckled underneath him Flint was right there. He gripped his shoulder to steady him, that hand on his wrist tightening. Silver's breath came in struggled gasps as he fought against the pain, and Flint let him breathe through it. "Easy," the captain repeated. This time his tone held a stern warning.

Silver swallowed down the lump that had formed in his throat. Fingernails bit into Flint's clothed form as the pain eventually began to ebb. When it finally did Silver glanced up at the man. "Ready," he murmured with a nod. Flint took a step back to give the man enough breadth to walk. Unfortunately, he only managed a few pain filled steps, each one more biting than the last, before stumbling once more. Again Flint's hold kept him from falling.

"Fuck," Silver swore. His frustration from these past few weeks finally broke free in that moment. "Fuck. _Fuck_!" His voice had damned near risen to a shout but Flint didn't so much as flinch. This wasn't the first outburst he had been present for. But even then, he had let him yell and swear and throw what he wanted. 

When Silver finally calmed he rested his forehead against the captain's collarbone. Sweat had already beaded along his hairline, though it was more from the pain than the physical exertion itself. God, he hated being wrong.

Flint's fingers were warm and soothing as they ghosted across his cheek. "I think it's safe to say it's too soon to be off the crutches," the man offered. His tone was surprisingly gentle.

Silver couldn't stop the scoff that left his throat. Even so, he allowed the captain to assist him back over to the table with hobbling steps. He leaned back heavily against the wood and swallowed. He was grateful to be able to take the weight off the stump, but the relief was quickly replaced with another familiar emotion. Shame. A hand reached up to wipe the sweat from his brow as his eyes squeezed shut.

Flint had already knelt down to remove the prosthetic. However he stopped short, allowing his hands to hover over his thigh before angling a gaze upwards. "May I?"

Silver granted him permission with a nod. Flint's touch was slow and careful as he undid the leather straps before easing off the leather boot. Once again Silver's jaw clenched at the stabbing pain from the rough drag of the leather. This time a feint noise managed to escape his throat. Its only answer was a soft "Sorry" from the man crouched down before him.

Flint didn't speak again until the iron boot had been returned to its shelf. "There's nothing wrong with taking the time to heal," he pointed out. "You know the men don't look at you any differently."

This time a bitter chuckle left Silver's lips. "Yes... they do," he argued. "You know they do. You see their stares just as clearly as I do, full of guilt and poorly masked pity." As he spoke his massaged the tender muscle above the injury.

Flint had returned to him by now. He pressed his hands against the table, one on either side of him before leaning into his space. "I don't look at you that way."

When Silver finally raised his gaze the captain's face was mere inches from his own. Those green eyes held a tenderness within them. It was distinctly different from the stern looks he cast the other men. Silver swallowed lightly. "I know.."

Flint seemed to hesitate slightly before leaning closer to press his lips against Silver's forehead. Slowly he placed another kiss against his temple before finally capturing his mouth with his own. It was brief, but even so when Flint withdrew he took Silver's breath with him. The shocking warmth and softness of those lips always seemed to have that effect.

"We'll attempt the boot again in a month," Flint assured him then.

"A week," Silver countered. Despite himself, a slight smirk pulled at the corner of his lips.

"Three weeks."

"Two."

" _Three_ ," Flint repeated with a scowl. The man's tone had regained its usual hard edge and his eyes were piercing. He had always been a difficult one to amuse. When it came to doing so during an argument it was all but impossible. And so Silver gracefully accepted his defeat with a nod, and once more those lips touched against his own. Only this time they lingered.


End file.
